The Dish: Cold Revenge with Curious Results
by Khitomer
Summary: The Dark Lord is gone; the Death Eaters are out; Neville finally found his toad.  Everything seems to be looking up for the Golden Trio-Apparently, they haven't been paying proper attention! Enemies old and new stir up mischief 7th year. FutureAU DG/RH/HL
1. The Plans of Mice and Men

"There she is!"

"Quick! Here, get behind this…"

"Ouch! That was my eye, you imbecile!"

"Sorry, sorry, but I can't move my…"

"Shhhhh!"

The two arguing voices abruptly cut off at the third's warning. As one organism, three heads—black, red, and dark brown, respectively—peeked out from behind a statue of a portly man with three fingers. The plaque beneath the statue gave a rather interesting explanation for the man's missing digits, but none of the three heads bothered to read it. Instead, the three pairs of eyes—green, blue, and hazel, respectively—focused intently on the lone shadow stretching towards them down the hallway. None of the three heads even dared draw breath as the sound of footsteps came closer.

At the last second, before the mysterious shadow turned the corner, two of the heads withdrew, and with a muffled protestation, shoved the black-haired, green-eyed Harry Potter into the corridor alone. Harry threw a dirty look at his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as they lifted fingers to their lips simultaneously. Grudgingly, Harry turned to face the ominous shadow alone.

The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World and Vanquisher of Voldemort, felt a strangling fear penetrate his gut. He'd never been so afraid in his short—but incredibly frightening—life. Over and over again, since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry had faced numerous trials, and survived mortal peril on an annual basis. More than annual, by his reckoning. And yet, he still felt more nervous now than he ever had while battling dark wizards, taming wild beasts, or, on the rare occasion, planning suicidal exploits into dangerous situations. At the thought of suicide, Harry once again turned to his friends. Both of the traitors peered at him stonily, reminding him that they were not here to back him up; they were here to make sure he didn't run away. Harry swallowed. Harry turned back to the hall. Harry froze.

"Hullo, Ginny," he said brightly. Ron's redheaded younger sister stared back at him, puzzled.

"Uh," She looked at the floor, wondering if she'd taken a wrong turn, "Hi, Harry."

An awkward silence filled the hall, imperceptibly dropping the temperature several degrees. Harry shivered. Why was this so difficult? He'd been madly in love with Ginny Weasley for three years. Why should he be afraid of talking to her? As though sensing his dilemma, Ginny broke the silence. Harry appreciated her for it; she was always one to take the lead. It was something he truly admired about her.

"So, I know we've been a little distant this year," she offered, hesitantly.

"Yeah, I know," Harry broke down and smiled, but faltered when she didn't return it.

"Well, there's a reason for it." Ginny's cold demeanor was beginning to frighten him. Harry drew a deep breath, and stepped closer to his girlfriend. Thankfully, she didn't try to get away this time, like she had when they'd ambushed her outside the Charms hall last Tuesday. After everything they'd been through together, it hurt Harry that Ginny didn't even want to discuss whatever problem she was having with him. He was her boyfriend, after all—they needed to be there for each other like that, or so Hermione told him. He shuddered at the memory of that conversation, two weeks ago...

_"Harry," Hermione had approached him one day, outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts, "I think you need to talk to Ginny." Harry's head snapped up from the tattered copy of "Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them" he'd been flipping through. He narrowed his eyes at his highly intelligent and somewhat nosy friend._

_"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously. Hermione only shook her head._

_"Something's up," she lowered her voice, "Ginny's been acting…strange. Haven't you noticed how she doesn't hang about anymore? While we were all so caught up in fighting Voldemort—helping the Order, and Dumbledore's Army—well, she was always underfoot. But," Hermione continued, walking with Harry into the classroom, "Ever since we got back to Hogwarts, she's barely even spoken to us. Even you! On the off chance I catch her on her way out of the common room, she always makes an excuse for ditching us, especially when you're around. I'm serious, Harry. Something's wrong."_

_As he took his seat beside Ron, Harry let Hermione's warning sink in. Of course he'd noticed Ginny's odd behavior. But, then again, she'd always been headstrong and independent. He'd brought it up one evening near the beginning of the term when they shared a rare moment of privacy outside the dungeons. Ginny had only scoffed at his concerns, explaining that she was incredibly busy with schoolwork because she had a lot of catching up to do, considering she'd spent her entire sixth year fouling up the Death Eater's plans at Hogwarts. However, before Harry could respond, Professor Slughorn had stuck his head out of his office and—very politely—told them to sod off and take their lover's spat to someone else's doorstep. Ginny had stormed off, her red curtain of hair swinging angrily behind her, leaving a dumbfounded Harry to stand in total shock until Peeves, ever the charmer, had dumped a bucket of freshly molted mandrake skins onto him._

_Altogether, the attempt had been an utter failure. Harry could understand why Ginny would have a lot of catching up to do, but he couldn't fathom why she'd dump all the blame onto him. He hadn't been twisting her arm when she set off a load of dungbombs in Alecto Carrow's office, or when she'd painted an obscene reference to Death Eater mating rituals in the entrance hall with Harlow's Hollering Ink. Drenched in mandrake goo, Harry had wandered dejectedly back to Gryffindor tower, hoping for the first time in his life that he didn't meet Ginny Weasley there._

_As soon as he stepped through the portrait hole, Ron loyally abandoned his game of Gobstones to comfort his tortured friend. They'd joined Hermione at her desk, covered in its entirety with parchment, quills, bottles of ink, and books of varying thickness. Together, they brainstormed._

_"Listen, mate, I know my sister's not exactly a soft touch," Ron said, keeping his voice down, "But I've never seen her like this before. You must have done something really awful, and she's waiting for you to apologize." His eyes flickered over to Hermione, who had recently given him a none-too discrete lesson about foul-ups and apologies. She'd found his secret stash of muggle men's magazines at the Burrow over the summer, and had abruptly stopped speaking to him. Ron hadn't a clue what he'd done to earn her wrath until, a week later, he felt lonely enough to pick through the smut, only to find that she'd bewitched the pictures to berate his masculinity and honor. Horrified, Ron had rushed to Hermione's room, fallen upon his knees, and begged forgiveness, explaining that he hadn't looked at the magazines for ages. She forgave him, and ever since, they'd enjoyed a steady, mutually beneficial relationship. Harry sighed._

_"You guys are so lucky," he said wistfully, interrupting a debate as to whether Ginny's current attitude was merely an extended reaction to Harry's year away. Ron choked mid-sentence and turned a violent shade of red, and Hermione giggled girlishly. The sight of them simultaneously lightened Harry's heart and crushed it. Ron recovered from his momentary heart-failure, and slapped his best friend on the back._

_"Cheer up, Harry," he said consolingly, "Maybe she's been cursed! Malfoy's been creeping around again—I can't believe that slimy bugger bothered to come back. I was hoping his whole family would leave the country after the war. It's the least they could do, after you saved their son," Ron grumbled, leaning back in his chair._

_"Why would Malfoy curse Ginny?" Hermione protested, ever the voice of reason._

_"Revenge, would be my first guess," her freckly boyfriend shrugged, "You know, getting back at the famous Harry Potter, who spoiled all his dreams of a pureblood paradise. Ferret probably doesn't like the taste of his own medicine." They all let satisfied smiles adorn their faces-Malfoy had been welcomed back to the magically-rebuilt school with the utmost respect and honor, as was demonstrated at the Beginning of Term Feast, when a meat-pie filled with poisonous snakes had launched itself at him...from the _Hufflepuff_ table. If that wasn't hatred, none of them knew what was. _

_Then, Hermione leaned forward suddenly, as though she'd remembered something terribly important. Harry and Ron leaned in closer, accordingly._

_"You know, I've heard that Malfoy's quite the playboy," she whispered, and Harry's mind began to reel with possibilities: Malfoy hexing Ginny, Ginny helpless to resist his predatory advances, Malfoy's hands all over her, touching her, groping her, doing all manner of explicit things to her—he had to stop himself before he began to hyperventilate. Hermione went on, "I hear they call him the 'Slytherin Prince,'" Ron shook his head, laughing._

_"That's rich," he gasped, "What is it with that lot and royalty? As if their heads weren't already far enough up their—!" Ron was cut off by the sound of Harry's body hitting the floor. He and Hermione both leapt from their chairs to their friend's side. After a round of thorough slapping, the Boy Who Lived came to._

_"What happened?" he asked groggily. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances._

_"We were talking about Ginny," Hermione ventured, her voice delicate._

_"And Malfoy," Ron piped up. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slipped into a dead faint. Hermione grabbed the nearest roll of parchment and began beating her boyfriend senseless with it._

_"You are utterly hopeless!" She growled. Ron cowered behind a chair, his arms upraised as a deluge of apologetic drivel spilled out of his mouth. Hermione lifted her weapon to continue the thrashing, but a flash of red out of the corner of her eye gave her pause. She lowered her arm, and Ron seized the chance to stand up and bound over the table to relative safety. Then, they both watched as Ginny walked gingerly over to their table._

_"What happened to him?" She asked, indicating Harry, "Was it his scar?" Hermione rolled her eyes._

_"Did you even read the seventh book?" the muggle-born witch drew her wand and summoned her potions kit from the seventh-year girls' dormitory. "Of course it wasn't his scar, Ginny. Voldemort's gone. Harry's got nothing to worry about—except you."_

_"Me?" Ginny seemed shocked, but was so guarded that both Hermione and Ron grew skeptical._

_"Gin, I don't know what's going on between you two," Ron motioned between his sister and the prostrate form of the Chosen One drooling on the floor, "But you've got to try and work it out. Harry's my best mate, and I'd do anything to see him happy…" With a glare, Ginny silenced her brother._

_"Why don't you marry him, then!" She shouted, and stomped off, out the portrait hole with only her tattered bunny-slippers and a thin nightie on. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, bewildered._

_"Marry?" They both said, looking down at their poor, sad sap of a best friend._

_An hour later, after Hermione had conjured up a perfect Pepper-up Potion and Ron got Harry situated in front of the happily crackling fireplace, they both waited expectantly for him to say something. He'd sipped the peppermint-flavored concoction, and glanced cautiously from one concerned face to the other. Finally, he could take no more._

_"What?" Harry demanded. Hermione looked at Ron, who averted his eyes and began chucking pieces of crumpled up paper into the fireplace. She heaved a sigh, and sat down next to Harry, placing a comforting hand on his arm._

_"Harry," she leveled her hazel eyes at him, "Did you ask Ginny to marry you?"_

_"No," Harry lied. How did they know? Had Ginny told them? Was that what was bothering her?_

_"For Merlin's sake, Harry," Hermione said, exasperated, "Why on earth would you do that?" Harry shrugged noncommittally. He looked up at Ron, who concentrated with such severity that Harry was forced to wonder if his somewhat academically challenged best friend had been hiding a secret talent all these years. Harry lowered his gaze morosely to the floor and mumbled incoherently._

_"What?" Hermione asked._

_"I said," Harry raised his voice, and Ron finally turned to look at him, "That I…that…well, I guess it just hit me one day that Ginny's the perfect girl—no, woman—for me, and that I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. She's smart, she's beautiful, she's great in…" Harry choked as Ron narrowed his eyes into icy slits, "Anyway, I love Ginny. I'd do anything for her. So, I figured why the heck not? I visited Gringotts right before school started, when we were getting all our stuff, and picked up my mom's ring." Hermione gasped as Harry drew a small, black box out of his pocket._

_"Your mother's ring?" Hermione gushed, losing herself in the romance of the moment. It fell to Ron to carry on the questioning._

_"So, when did you ask her?" Ron asked, and Harry was grateful that Ron had forgiven him for having referenced his sister's mastery of bedroom etiquette._

_"About a week into the term," Harry replied, recalling it. He'd made sure the timing was perfect, and led her from a pleasant, if somewhat strained picnic on the grounds into the castle and up to the seventh floor corridor. As he held Ginny's hand and spoken his wishes to the Room of Requirement, it seemed that everything in his chaotic life had finally settled into normalcy. He was meant to be with Ginny. Together, they stepped into…_

_"You took her to WHAT?" Ron demanded, not believing his ears. Was his friend off his rocker?_

_"I told the Room that I wanted to go to the place where Ginny and I had our first kiss. So, the room morphed itself into that storeroom where Voldemort hid Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem." As Harry carried on with his explanation, Ron's face paled. "Of course, I'd nearly forgotten that Goyle—or Crabbe, I don't really remember; they're really just the same anyway—had set loose the Fiendfyre and incinerated everything inside."_

_"So, you took my sister to a burnt-up store room," Ron prompted, unsure whether he wanted to hear the rest. Hermione tore her eyes away from Lily Evans Potter's engagement ring, and listened with rapt attention. Harry, she decided after several moments, had clearly lost his mind._

_"Yeah," Harry said slowly, "I tried to make the best of it, so I got down and one knee and told her everything I just told you guys—that she was smart and beautiful and funny and everything I could ever want or need in a woman—and took out the ring, and asked her to marry me." Ron just shook his head._

_"Mate, you've got a way with dark wizards," he chided, "But you don't know the first thing about women." Hermione nodded her head in grave agreement._

_"Of course, she said no," Harry finished miserably. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that said, clear as day, "Serves you right." Hermione began to pat Harry's shoulder once again, and she took the empty goblet out of his hands. It truly pained her—both of them—to see Harry tortured like this. They had to find a way to fix things between Harry and Ginny. If only to preserve their own sanity._

And that is how Harry had ended up in his current unbearably awkward situation. After hours of discussion, Ron and Hermione had formulated a fool-proof plan for Harry to win Ginny back. They'd put Operation: Ambush into play the very next day.

_Over a week and some change, the Trio carefully tracked Ginny's movements. When the time seemed ripe, Harry and Ron left the Library and headed upstairs. It was cool and moist inside the castle on that fateful Tuesday. Harry, chilled at the prospect of another run-in with Ginny, protested as a rather insistent Ron pressed a bouquet of flowers and some assorted sweets into Harry's arms and shoved him into the empty Charms hallway. After almost two weeks of stalking Ginny beneath the invisibility cloak, which only fit two of them now that Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all filled out, they knew that she would pass through his hallway—alone—on her way up to Transfiguration after her break ended._

_Sure enough, the flame-haired Gryffindor Chaser stepped into the corridor only seconds after Ron cast Harry to the wolves. Her carefree smile vanished, and she froze._

_"Harry," she said warningly, "What are you doing."_

_"I brought you flowers," He said, lamely. Ginny placed her hands firmly on her hips._

_"Oh yeah?" She mocked, "Did you pluck them off Dumbledore's tomb?" Ouch, Harry thought._

_"No, I didn't," He took a deep breath. This was going to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. "I know you don't like daisies." He tried smiling at her, but Ginny only tossed her head and laughed darkly. Behind a suit of armor, Ron slapped himself in the forehead. Daises were Ginny's favorite flower._

_"What in the name of Helga Hufflepuff are you talking about?" Ginny snarled, "I love daisies. Don't you remember when…" She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "This is ridiculous. Why am I arguing with you over flowers? I told you I wouldn't marry you and that's final!" And without further provocation, Ginny turned around to take the long way up to Transfiguration. Harry let his arms fall limply to his sides. The Mood Roses, an exotic species of flower that Ron had had to swap Neville Longbottom six Chocolate Frog cards for, turned a deep, mournful blue, wilting before his eyes. Ron emerged from his hiding spot, and slung an arm around Harry's drooping shoulders._

_"Don't worry, mate," he said, relieving Harry of his burdensome box of sweets, "I'm sure she'll come around. Just give it time. All Weasley women are stubborn as they come; just look at my mother!" Harry fixed his friend with a withering green gaze._

_"Ron," Harry said dully, "Your mother isn't a Weasley. She just married one."_

_"You know what I mean," Ron replied, stuffing something pink and mushy into his mouth._

_Hermione suddenly appeared from a shortcut behind them, and shouted a greeting. At the sight of the roses, and then Harry's tortured eyes, Hermione forgot the congratulatory speech she'd prepared while mindlessly translating runes._

_"Next time, Harry," she assured him, "Next time, we'll make sure she doesn't get away."_

Now, Harry stood before Ginny once again, and faced with her glare—which was very similar to, and yet completely different from her brother's—he felt his resolve crumble. She'd just informed him that there was a reason behind her behavior; now, he would have to ask her why she'd suddenly become so spiteful, or she would go ahead and tell him anyway. Either way, he'd find out, so he chose to be proactive.

"Ginny, why haven't you been talking to us? To me? I'm not just your boyfriend, I'm your closest friend. I've told you a hundred times: I love you, and I'd do anything for you. If you have a problem, I'll do whatever it takes to fix it…" Harry launched into a list of what he'd do for her. Ginny listened patiently, but she was going to be late.

"Harry," she said gently, not wanting to hurt him too much.

"If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you…" Harry went on.

"Harry." Ginny said, louder than before. Really, this was getting out of hand.

"If Ron's rude to you, I'll thump him; don't think I won't…" Harry's eyes flickered to the statue.

"HARRY." Ginny said, giving him the chance to listen one last time.

"When you go to sleep at night, I'll tuck you in…" He was a locomotive; unstoppable, irresistible.

"HARRY! I'M SEEING SOMEONE ELSE!" Ginny finally shouted at the top of her lungs. Harry stopped mid-if, and stared at her, confused.

"Someone…else?" It was an alien concept to him. He simply couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Harry's face fell, and he heard Ron and Hermione bickering behind the statue: "She just said she's seeing someone else!" "It's not possible; this is Ginny we're talking about." "But she just said she's seeing someone else!" "You didn't hear her properly!" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You heard me properly, all right," she said menacingly, "And don't think I can't hear you—Ron, Hermione! You've been meddling where you don't belong, and I'm sick of it. This is between Harry and me, so you lot can just clear off!" Ginny, who usually had a firm hold on her emotions, was beginning to lose it. It boggled her mind that she'd wasted years of her life looking up to these…buffoons. She must have been daft.

"Ginny," Hermione said, stepping bravely from behind the three-fingered memorial, "We all know you've been mad at Harry, but could you at least have it out with him before you dump him? I don't believe that you would actually start seeing someone behind Harry's back. You're better than that," Hermione took a cautious step forward, "Better than lying." Ron emerged behind her, and crossed his arms sternly.

"Oh, she's not lying, Hermione," Ron said, and there was no arguing with that tone, "My sister's many things, but never a liar." Ginny felt her ears turn red, even though he was insulting her. _Fine_, she thought, _they can have it their way_, "So," Ron continued, stepping forward to flank his unbelieving best friend, "Who've you been seeing, eh?"

Ginny fidgeted nervously. She hadn't expected it to happen like this, hadn't expected all three of them to confront her, though she should have known better than to underestimate the Golden Trio. _Inseparable_, people called them, with the hypnotic awe of the deranged.

"Well," Ron demanded, "Might as well get it in the open now, so Harry can forgive you."

"Forgive ME?" Ginny raged, and even Ron backed down. She reminded all three of them of Norbert(a), Hagrid's pet dragon from their first year at Hogwarts. "A face only a mother could love," was the best way to describe the scaly menace, and Harry and Hermione in particular had reason to despise the pointy little bugger. "Why would I ask HIM to forgive ME?" Ron ignored her, repeating his question.

"Did you go back to Dean?" Harry asked quietly, his green eyes meeting her gaze at last.

"No," Ginny replied defiantly, trying to be nonchalant.

"Neville?" Harry ventured. Ginny blanched.

"Are you bloody stupid?"

"Oh, Merlin," Harry buried his face in his hands, "It's that twit, Seamus!"

Then, with all the silken seductiveness of a snake, another voice joined in the tragic mayhem. Harry and Ron stood, their mouths agape, as they listened to such unfamiliar words issue from a well-known, and hated, mouth, in an equally well-known, and hated, drawl. Hermione, being the only one present (Ginny aside) not impaired by testosterone-fueled mystification, drew her wand.

"Put that thing away, Granger," the voice said lazily as a tall form, too gangly to be considered muscular and far too man-pretty to carry the title "handsome," stepped from behind the corner. "Potty, Weasel," Draco Malfoy nodded to Harry and Ron as he advanced toward Ginny, who turned to him and smiled warmly. She enjoyed watching her now-ex-boyfriend and git of an older brother struggle to reattach their dangling jaws enough to speak. They both failed, miserably.

"Ginny and I are together," Malfoy stared at the bewildered Gryffindors coolly, "And I would prefer that you not harass her at every turn for making the best decision of her life." Harry reached into his robes, but Hermione's hand on his shoulder reminded them of where they were. They were at Hogwarts, not on a battlefield, and Draco Malfoy—though utterly repellant—was not a dark wizard. Well, not anymore. Harry wondered if Malfoy's past would excuse Harry's murdering him before the Wizengamot. Harry relaxed, and let his arm fall numbly back to his side. _Probably not_, he decided.

"Ginny," Harry turned to the girl he'd asked to marry him—foolishly, yes, but sincerely, "Is this what you want?" Ginny nodded enthusiastically, and Harry's heart broke a little more. "Are you happy?" She nodded again, looking lovingly up at Malfoy, who smirked at her with that pathetic excuse for a genuine smile. "You're not under some kind of curse?" Harry asked at last, feeling light-headed. Ginny rolled her eyes, and began to twirl her finger across Malfoy's slender—and very likely hairless—chest.

Harry nodded, and turned to face his two best friends. Their faces mirrored his own dismal sense of betrayal. He stared at them for several seconds before his eyes flew upwards and they both reached out to catch Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World and Vanquisher of Voldemort, as he slumped in a dead faint. As he and Hermione slung Harry between them, Ron turned back to where his sister stood, wrapped around the vile Malfoy.

"You'll pay for this, Malfoy," he said, deadly quiet, "I swear it on my brother's grave."

For a moment, Ginny's eyes seemed to glaze over, remembering Fred falling to the floor, victim of an explosion. Then, she noticed Ron glaring at her, and looked away. Without another word, the Golden Trio retreated down the hallway, leaving Ginny and Draco Malfoy alone. The moment they disappeared around a corner, Ginny pushed herself away from the Slytherin Prince and began primping her hair.

"That went well," she remarked, adjusting her robes. On the other wall, Malfoy had his back to her, dusting himself off. Slowly, he drew a long red hair from off his sleeve, and discarded it.

"Better than expected, I'd wager," he replied, drawing a small bottle of Wulf Wilhelm's "Pure Ecstasy" ("When the witches start to scream, don't be alarmed; it's the scent of a Wilhelm's wizard that's got their senses charmed.") and began to spritz his neck and chest. "I didn't think I'd ever have the pleasure of seeing Potter break down like that; savior of the wizarding world my arse," Malfoy chuckled, and turned to face Ginny.

"Malfoy," she crossed over to him and peered up at his lean, pale face, "You're an insufferable git."

"And you're a filthy blood-traitor, whose father should be locked in a muggle loony bin."

"See you tomorrow?"

"Most definitely." Malfoy began to leave the way he came, but paused, "And in the future, try not to get so close to me, Weaselette. Wilhelm's isn't cheap, but I guess you already had that figured out." He trotted down the side passage, humming the Wilhelm's jingle. Ginny listened until his voice died away, and then let out a deep breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Then, finally alone, she drew a tattered photograph out of her breast pocket. There were dark brown rings crusted on it where she'd spilt her coffee one morning. In the photo, a disgruntled image of herself in miniature ducked in and out of the frame, trying to find a way to get around the coffee stain to Harry's image on the other side.

"_Incendio,_" Ginny muttered, drawing her wand. Within seconds, the photo crumbled to ash,

_One down_, she thought, replacing her wand in her satchel,_ two to go_.


	2. Payback's a Bitch

"Mum is going to lose it," Ron muttered as he and Hermione hefted the heartbroken Harry through the winding halls of Hogwarts. Blessedly, they encountered only a small pack of first-years along the way, all of whom scattered to the four winds when Ron growled at them.

"No, seriously, she is going to lay an egg," Ron gasped, breathing heavily as he pulled Harry through the portrait hole. Though the Quidditch Captain was certainly lighter than a boy his age should be—another thing Mrs. Weasley constantly griped about—they'd had to drag him up five flights of stairs, across several floors, and back down two staircases just to reach Gryffindor tower.

"A Howler's more like it," Hermione replied, catching her breath. They both sank onto the same squashy armchair, and let their bodies regain some stamina as they considered Harry's unmoving form on a nearby couch. "I don't understand, Ron," she said, leaning her head back onto his shoulder to look at his freckled face. Ron merely shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from Harry.

"Ginny's gone mad, it's quite obvious," he surmised. Ginny HATED Malfoy. They'd all seen her shoot Bat-Bogey hexes at him multiple times, and, in good old days—before Harry's dreadful marriage proposal—Ginny had happily added her brilliant, and oftentimes disturbing, ideas to their buffet of Slytherin-bashing. Next to Quidditch, it had been her favorite sport.

"Not Ginny," Hermione pointed down at Harry, comatose on the couch, "What could possibly be wrong with Harry? I've never seen him so…"

"Feeble?" Ron offered, "He's heartbroken, Hermione."

Hermione shook her frizzy brown head and scratched her chin thoughtfully, "There must have been something we did to make Ginny angry enough to do something so…unthinkable."

"What d'you mean, 'we?'" Ron protested as Hermione excused herself from his lap. "I'm her brother, for Merlin's sake." As she turned to him, Ron immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"Oh, so you expect me to believe that over all those years, when you went on and on about Percy working for the ministry, you never meant it when you called him a backstabbing git?" Ron bit his lip, thinking of an appropriate answer. At last, inspiration struck.

"I forgave him, after the War," Ron smiled triumphantly. Hermione drifted back into his arms, and she patted him on his flaming red crown. She pulled his cheek close to her lips, and kissed him. Ron's entire face, from forehead to chin, instantly became scarlet. Hermione had always loved that Ron was so easy to read; however, she sometimes resented having to explain every miniscule detail. _You'd think, after seven years of nothing but mystery and adventure, he'd learn to put two and two together_, she sighed to herself, moving her lips closer to his crimson earlobe. _Oh well_. She had developed a mutually satisfying approach to what she liked to call "the Ron Dilemma."

"Ron, why did you forgive Percy?" she whispered seductively into his ear. He perked up quite a bit; he loved it when they played this game. Of course, for almost a whole year now, he'd been kicking himself. He'd played the same game with her since they were eleven, just without the snogging. If he'd played his cards right, Ron could have been the first boy in their year to learn the truly advanced magic of shagging. Being cruel to Hermione when they were in first year might have been his biggest mistake…

"That's it! Percy admitted that he was wrong! That he'd made a mistake!" Ron cried, startling Hermione, who'd begun to fall asleep on his shoulder. She yawned, and patted him sportingly on the thigh.

"Exactly, Ronald," Hermione said, "But first, we've got to figure out what we've done to wrong Ginny." Ron grinned, pleased with himself. He wasn't a sprinter, but he always made it past the finish line. However, as Hermione lifted her face to give Ron his reward, a muffled groan from the couch brought them both swiftly to their feet. Before she crossed to Harry, Ron grabbed Hermione and pulled her back into his arms. They shared a split-seconds worth of kissing, until Ron broke off.

"I should have done that the first day I saw you," he said softly, burying his face in her hair. She smelled faintly of old leather and ink; he decided to finally put his foot down and make her stop scratching her head with quills, as she was prone to do when deep in thought.

"Stop it you two," Harry moaned again, coherently this time, "You're going to make me vomit."

Hermione hushed Harry, kneeling at his side, "You haven't eaten in since yesterday," she admonished him, as Ron took a seat on one of the sofa's arms, "There aren't any chunks in there to blow." Harry groaned, rolling into sitting position. Ron clapped him mightily on the back.

"That's the spirit, mate," he said brightly, "Here I was thinking you'd gone and caught something deadly, with all this fainting business. Let's grab some supper in the Great Hall," Ron leaped from his seat, always energetic at the prospect of a meal, and pulled Harry to his feet, "Hermione and I can tell you all about out plan." Harry nearly sank back onto the couch.

"Right," he muttered, "I'm thrilled, Operation: Ambush being such a great success and all. Besides, what if _she's_ at supper? With _him_?" Hermione helped Ron pull Harry to his feet.

"That would be perfect," Hermione informed him, "Because seeing her is part of our plan."

"This just gets better and better, doesn't it?" Harry said, forlorn. Together, the Golden Trio made their way out of the portrait hole. The Fat Lady sniffed loudly when Harry, the last one out, forgot to reseal the entrance. As he trudged back to close the portrait, the Fat Lady beamed at him.

"I've only got your best interests at heart, dear," she called after him as he walked back over to Ron and Hermione, "Remember that awful Sirius Black incident? Although Argus managed to restore me to my former beauty," she waved her feathered pink fan alluringly, "I still feel the scars where that madman tore the canvas." The Fat Lady took a trembling breath, about to go on, but noticed—as did Ron and Hermione—that Harry had gone incredibly pale.

"Harry," Ron said warningly, "I swear, if you faint again, I'm going to have to charge you fare."

"I'm sorry, dear, if I scared you," the Fat Lady apologized quickly, "But I tend to get nostalgic with all my seventh-years. I only remembered that awful evening myself because students keep bothering me at all hours of the night," the Fat Lady fanned herself harder, "A lady needs her beauty rest, after all."

"Who keeps coming and going in the middle of the night?" Hermione demanded, her prefect instincts rising to the surface. If there was mischief afoot, she had a duty to quash it.

"Well, for one thing, that fiery little redhead comes and goes like no one's business. Sixth-year, I think? One time I even saw her bring a boy back with her—I'd never seen him before, I suppose he's from another house. Quiet-type, always very polite." The Fat Lady tittered, "He even bowed like a proper gentleman before following the redhead inside. What a pleasant departure from the usual…"

"What did the boy look like?" It was Harry's turn to demand an answer. If Draco Malfoy had been inside Gryffindor tower, he needed to know. Deep inside, Harry's heart protested that Ginny couldn't have brought that pompous, over-gelled git into the tower while they were still technically dating. It would be more than betrayal…it would mean that Harry needed to find a charm to repel venereal diseases. Immediately. He nearly gagged.

The Fat Lady lifted her nose in the air, and made an insulted noise.

"I am not your doorman," she scoffed, and moved to leave her frame.

"We're sorry," Hermione apologized gently, "But if someone who isn't a Gryffindor has been inside the tower, that's in direct violation of school rules. We'll need to report it." She fixed the Fat Lady with a firm, hazel gaze. The Fat Lady sighed, and returned to her usual plush cushion.

"I never heard her say his name, but he was tall and thin, with blonde hair, and either blue or gray eyes—it was too dark to tell." Without another word, Harry whipped around and made for the staircase leading to Hogwarts' inner sanctum. Ron chased after him while Hermione thanked the Fat Lady, who had risen to her feet with indignant bluster at Harry's abrupt departure.

"He's had a rough few days," Hermione explained, smiling contritely. She turned to go.

"He didn't even stay to hear the best part!" The Fat Lady sulked, having lost two-thirds of her audience. Hermione paused, and waited for the Fat Lady to go on. "Well, what really gets me all riled up," the matronly woman continued, settling back into her seat, "Is the fact that every time that strumpet leaves, she leaves the door ajar, no matter how loud I yell to call her back! The other night, I had to wait an entire hour before that Longbottom boy came up from the Greenhouses, and let me tell you, he smelled to high heaven…wait…where are you going?" The Fat Lady found herself alone in the empty hallway, once again.

"Blast it," she muttered, "They never stick around. Can't a girl catch a break?"

Harry and Ron were halfway to the Great Hall when Hermione caught up with them.

"What took you?" Ron asked, holding tightly onto Harry's shoulders. There was homicidal glint in Harry's eyes, and Ron—thought he felt his friend's pain—would never hear the end of it if Harry murdered Ginny in a fit of jealous rage. Hermione heard the inclement sounds of gathered students, all of their ears undoubtedly tuned to the barest shred of gossip, so she didn't reply and hoped Ron would drop the matter until they settled into a more secure setting for discussion.

As expected, the Great Hall was full to bursting with students. Of course, as they always did, Harry's eyes settled on the staff table at the head of the hall. His gaze lingered on the currently empty headmaster's seat, and then wandered to left, where Professor Snape had sat and fixed Harry with his haunted gaze for six years. Harry now knew the truth behind those beady eyes, but the nearness of Dumbledore's murder made it difficult for him to forgive the man, despite his bravery. Lost in his dark thoughts, Harry seated himself at the far end of the Gryffindor table and commenced to load his plate with food dispassionately. He barely registered Ron and Hermione's whispered discussion, stuffing mouthful after mouthful of tasteless food into his mouth.

"Finally taking some good advice and trying to put some meat on those bones, eh, Harry?" A girl's voice interrupted Harry's brooding, and he looked up at Romilda Vane's vaguely masculine face. He tried to smile, and indicated that his mouth was full. Taking this as an invitation to join him, Romilda plopped down in the tiny space between him and Ron. Ron scooted closer to Hermione with a heartfelt, "Sorry, mate," leaving Harry and Romilda in relative privacy.

"So," she began, as Harry desperately piled more helpings onto his plate, "I heard that you're back on the market."_ I_ _can't do this_, Harry thought,_ I_ _just can't_. Romilda brought a hand up to caress his cheek, which was nearly at its maximum capacity. He was finding it hard to chew, but Harry continued to shovel forkfuls of random entrees into the crowded area.

"Oh, Harry," she cooed, "I'm so sorry. You must be awfully lonely, now that Ginny's out of the picture." The way Romilda said it, she made Ginny sound like an obstacle. "But I hope you know, Harry," Romilda continued, as her hand moved down his neck and across his chest, "That you've always got me. You can come visit whenever you like, in the fifth-year dorms." Her hand moved farther down, and Harry could no longer contain himself. He spit the unrecognizable mush in his mouth onto his plate and stood up quickly.

"Sorry, I have to use the toilet." Without looking down at her, Harry made a break for it. Hermione nudged Ron, who took a final bite of strudel, and rose to his feet, following Harry. Left alone together, Romilda and Hermione regarded each other uneasily.

"What are you looking at?" Romilda finally snapped. Hermione shook her head.

"I'm wondering," Hermione said, pausing to sip her tea, "How you ended up in Gryffindor. I mean, honestly," Hermione looked the raven-haired girl up and down, "What did the Sorting Hat see in you? You're not brave, and you obviously aren't that bright," Hermione shook her head as Romilda alternately paled and flushed, "It makes me wonder if that old Hat is getting a little bit worse for wear."

"Actually," Romilda said quietly, after a moment, "The Sorting Hat gave me a choice," Hermione paused, mid-sip, to listen, "It told me that it saw me doing well in Hufflepuff, but that I might also make a good Slytherin. Considering that both my parents were in Hufflepuff, I hadn't expected anything different. But before the hat shouted out my house name, it asked me why I wanted so badly to be in Gryffindor. I didn't know it could read my thoughts until then, so I told I that I wanted to be in the same house as the famous Harry Potter. The Sorting Hat warned me that it would be difficult for me, in Gryffindor. Even now, most of my good friends are from Hufflepuff. But I still chose to be in Gryffindor." Hermione didn't notice that she'd leaned in closer as Romilda shared her story, but now she leaned back, surprised.

"Why, Romilda?" Hermione was awestruck, "Why would you choose to be unhappy?" The fifth-year girl shrugged, but Hermione sensed that she was on the verge of tears. Perhaps she'd never told anyone this tale before.

"I didn't choose to be unhappy," Romilda's lips trembled, "I chose to follow my dream."

"And what was your dream?" Hermione asked, trying not to roll her eyes; she was quite confident she already knew the answer.

"I want to marry Harry Potter. But he never even gives me the time of day!" Finally, Romilda's walls broke down, and she began to cry, the tears gushing from her dark blue eyes like waterfalls. Hermione was caught off guard; she hadn't expected the poor girl to actually lose it here, in the Great Hall, where everyone could see. Several curious faces turned toward the pair of Gryffindor girls, and Hermione shrugged at them, patting the weeping younger girl.

"Romilda," Hermione said slowly, after a time, "That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. You should try to find a dream that doesn't involve having to drug your future-husband into loving you. Really." Romilda gasped, and, obviously offended, shoved Hermione away as she dashed from the hall.

"You'll see, " she croaked as she ran, "Payback's a bitch, Granger!"

Hermione shook her head, and opened a book as she poured herself another cup of tea.

In the nearest boys' bathroom, Harry clutched the stark white edges of a sink and let freezing water fall in rivulets from his face. When the last drops splashed back into the sink, he confronted his damp countenance in the mirror.

"You're a bloody fool, Harry Potter," his reflection said, "If you let them beat you." Harry couldn't have agreed more. "This is what we're going to do, old chap: we're going to get back on that horse, and ride it."

"Then what?" Harry asked the face in the mirror. The face broke into a jaunty, lopsided grin. Harry knew what that face meant—knew it all too well. It was the very face he'd worn the first time he'd ever snuck out in his invisibility cloak; the first time he'd ridden a broom and realized flying was effortless joy; the first time he'd won a Quidditch match; the first time he'd watched Ginny peel off her uniform and show him her perfect, slim…

Harry splashed himself with another handful of water. The face in the mirror shook its head at him, clearly disappointed by Harry's lackluster dedication to horseback-riding. Harry looked away, growing uncomfortable with the fact he was carrying on a conversation with his own reflection.

"I'm going mental," Harry sighed, looking up at the mirror. He froze.

"I'll say, Potter," Draco Malfoy's reflection sneered, "I saw you leave the Great Hall. I figured you might want some company, you know, perhaps a little pick-me-up chat with an old pal," Malfoy pointedly looked at the mirror, "But I see you've already found someone to talk to. I half expected you to start calling it 'Dad,'" Malfoy laughed—rather like a girl, in Harry's opinion. Still, the words sliced into him, and Harry released the sink, drawing his wand in a fluid motion as he turned to face his nemesis.

"Isn't this the same bathroom where I caught you crying like a baby," Harry licked his dry lips, "And then thrashed your sorry arse?" Malfoy stiffened.

"Ah, yes," the Slytherin Prince drew his own wand from the depths of his robe, "But that was when you were on top of the world," Malfoy mocked, "But now, I'm on top of the world. And your girl." Malfoy snickered lecherously.

Harry had never been one for brute force; he preferred to let the bulkier, more substantial Ron—and occasionally, Ron's brothers—handle the physical aspects of their numerous altercations over the years. Usually, Harry chose to deal with hostile situations by relying on his own strengths—those being flying, magic, and his awe-inspiring track record, in that order. However, as Malfoy continued to laugh, thoughts of Ginny entertaining this Slytherin scum filled his mind's eye. Harry shot a glance back at the mirror. His reflection gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Punch that nasty wanker right in the nose," the face urged. Harry nodded.

Malfoy must have been expecting him, however, because his long, sinewy arms shot out and grabbed Harry before he ever made contact. Harry grunted, and found himself soaring over Malfoy's shoulder. He landed on his back in a puddle of what he dearly hoped was water.

"Pathetic," Malfoy smirked. Harry struggled to rise to his feet; mercifully, he'd managed to hold onto his wand throughout his short flight through the air, and he pointed it at Malfoy's chest.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry thought, and without a sound, a burst of light erupted from the end of Harry's wand. It shot through the air, right at that infuriating smirk; then, inexplicably, the bolt of red light fizzled into nothingness. Malfoy yawned, and with a flick of his dainty wrist, bound Harry with a nonverbal command. Harry fell to the floor, back into the puddle, unable to move or speak. Rage bubbled up from his very core, but Harry was powerless to help himself; his wand had slipped from between his wet fingers, and skittered several feet away across the tiled floor.

"What am I going to have to do to you to make you realize the truth, Potter?" Malfoy dropped his voice to an icy whisper, crouching near Harry's head. "How much more of this disgrace can you bear? Now I've got your girl,_ and_ your dignity."

With hands colder than the water leeching into his robes, Malfoy grasped Harry's face, pinching his cheeks in a cruel parody of Harry's Aunt Marge. "Just give up, Potter. There's nothing left for you here," Malfoy released Harry's face, letting it fall, slack, back into the puddle, "Without a Dark Lord to cower in fear of, everyone will soon remember what really matters: power. And, Potter, without a Dark Lord to conquer, they'll soon realize that you're powerless. Useless. Just another footnote in a history book. You will be unimportant…and impotent." With that, Malfoy rose, and turned to the mirror Harry had been conversing with mere minutes before. He straightened his tie, and patted down his hair where it's been grazed when Harry flew over his head.

"No wonder that redhead can't get enough," he said to his own reflection, "I am Merlin's gift to the magical world." Malfoy stepped over Harry's prostrate form, and left the bathroom, calling "I'll leave the door open, Potter, to make sure someone finds you!" His laughter continued to echo in the empty bathroom, long after his footsteps dissipated in the distance.

Ginny's laughter brought an uncommon spark of warmth to the Slytherin common room. Across from her, a smug Draco Malfoy had nearly completed relaying his encounter with Harry to all the gathered seventh-years.

"Man, you've got some balls, Malfoy," Blaise Zabini roared, his laugh nearly as rich as the color of his dark skin; Ginny blushed. She'd always had a thing for chocolate. "Just when we all thought you'd been neutered, you're back—new and improved, better than before!" Several heads nodded in agreement.

"Let me get this straight," Theodore Nott reclined on a winged armchair of green velvet, "You actually caught Potter talking to himself in the men's room," He began counting the humiliations on his fingers, "then provoked him into tackling you, at which point you threw him into a puddle of piss, then, you somehow managed to deflect one of Potter's nonverbal spells," This was surely the most unbelievable part of the recollection; Harry Potter's dueling skills were virtually unmatched in the Wizarding world, let alone inside Hogwarts, "Then paralyzed him, mentally traumatized him, insulted his manhood, and then told him you'd slept with his girl?" Malfoy nodded at every finger, and Nott slapped his knee, "Two more and you'd have given him enough payback for every year our parents are spending in Azkaban." The room grew suddenly quiet, and several Slytherin faces let their eyes slide to Ginny. All at once, they weren't comrades anymore—the Slytherins were purebloods and she was blood traitor. Ginny cleared her throat.

"Boy," she said, grinning, "I wish I'd been there!" She noticed a smile crossing Blaise's face, and soon, everyone was laughing heartily once again. Ginny scolded herself mentally, _why did I bother with these murderous idiots? It's no wonder that the Dark Lord manipulated them out of everything they own; a monkey with some scary special effects could have done._ Malfoy, the newly-restored King of the Idiots, rose from his seat then, and walked over to where she stood, leaning on a desk. She hadn't wanted to sit on a real piece of Slytherin furniture; she wasn't ready for that level of commitment yet.

"Ah, but, Little Weasel, you were carrying out your own delicate mission to further Potter's downfall!" The Slytherin seventh-years, perked up, eager to hear the next part of the ingenious—and delightfully horrible—scheme Ginny had planned for their hated rivals. Malfoy ushered her across to the sofa. _Oh, what the hell_, she thought, and plopped onto the couch. She didn't burst into flames. Perhaps she could get used to this after all. "Tell us all about how you confounded your own brother! That's something I'd like to have seen firsthand."

"Well," Ginny began, "Mal—Draco and I watched Potter from across the Hall, and once…Granger and…Weasley…got into it about something probably very dull and very likely having to do with my pathetic ex-boyfriend," Several members of her audience sniggered, "I sent Romilda over to, let's say, comfort Potter. In return, I promised to get her a date with the Boy Who Lived, if she still wants anything to do with him after we're through," More laughter.

"She used her…charms…to force Potter to excuse himself," Romilda Vane, in Ginny's opinion, deserved some kind of recognition; somehow, she'd managed to perfect the art of effortlessly repelling men—and not just the ones who'd have her in a drunken haze and regret it the next morning, but the ones desperate enough to welcome her advances. How she did it was more than magic; it was pure talent.

"Potter, of course, went to the bathroom, and we all know what happened after that!" The Slytherins cheered, and those nearest Malfoy congratulated him all over again for a job well done. "Then, Granger, with her great snooping nose, noticed something was wrong, and sent my broth—Weasley—her lapdog, into the bathroom after Potter. But I was waiting for him just around the corner with an extra-strength Confundus charm and a special gift from our friend Blaise over here," Ginny nodded to Blaise, and he briefly bowed his head in silent acknowledgement. Ginny had relished the startled look on Ron's face, and was briefly sorry that she'd had to obliviate him after the deed was done. She dearly wanted him—wanted all three of them—to know just how much effort she had put into her revenge.

"Then I erased his memory and sent him on his way to find Potter. From what I heard in the Gryffindor common room earlier, after supper, they all know that something happened, but they aren't sure yet," Pansy cackled.

"They'll know by tomorrow! Millie and I can guarantee that!" Pansy and Millicent exchanged gleeful looks, but let Ginny continue. Before she could, however, Nott asked the question she'd been waiting for all night.

"What did you give to Weasley? From Blaise?" A chorus of dissonant agreement rose so loudly and suddenly amongst the seated seventh-years that several first-years, only a floor below the common room, were shocked from their dreams of candy and unicorns and streets running red with Muggle blood. Malfoy intervened, silencing his comrades with a placating gesture.

"You'll all find out tomorrow," his anticipation was palpable, "I guarantee it."

"While I was leaving, I heard Granger mention something about increased security at night," Ginny added, warning her coconspirators, "So be careful if you guys decide to go back up there again."

"That cow of a guardian at Gryffindor tower must have blabbed," Nott said from his armchair, "I knew I should have closed the damn thing when I left last Saturday."

"Don't worry, Theo," Millicent comforted him with sharp slap to the shin, "You won't do it again, or else…"

Whatever Millicent had planned to do to Nott, which had seemed to excite him more than frighten him—Ginny shuddered, unable to fathom Bulstrode's squashed face and stocky build exciting a lonely troll—was drowned out by an awful screech that scared Ginny half to death. With a plume of dust and feathers, a mottled, sickly bird burst from a wall-mounted wooden box on the far wall.

"It's nine o' clock," the bird warbled, "Time for you dirty brats to clear off!" The bird repeated itself nine times (each time with a rather inventive and insulting call to retire), and then returned to its chamber inside the wooden box. Ginny couldn't help herself, and snorted derisively.

"Really?" She laughed, "That's…quaint." Several of the Slytherins shifted uneasily.

"It's been here for ages," Blaise said, "We've tried to make Filch get rid of it, but the damn thing's magicked to the floor or something."

"Yeah," Pansy added morosely, "And if you kill the bird, another one hatches by the next morning, and scolds you."

"Did Salazar Slytherin have kids?" Ginny asked.

"Loads," Nott confirmed, "Not that many of them survived to adulthood. If you can't tell from that clock, the old man had a bit of an issue with his parenting skills."

"We'd better clear off before ten," Pansy piped up, "That one's even worse." As one, the Slytherins stood up from their various seats and bid each other a good night. Ginny made her way toward the dungeon's exit, but a thin, gangly arm barred her way.

"Oh, Malfoy," Ginny said sweetly, "Offering to walk me home? How gentlemanly of you."

"Why don't you stay the night, Weaselette? We can make all those lies we've told Potter come true," Malfoy's silky drawl sent chills down her spine. In Ginny's fifth year, Adele Erskine, a Ravenclaw in her transfiguration class, had related the story of a night spent with Malfoy using a clever metaphor: "Let's just say that Slytherin's Heir unlocked my Chamber of Secrets."

Adele's phrasing did more to turn Ginny off than even the thought of her parents doing the horizontal tango could, and she didn't dare explain to the group of onlookers the real reason why she'd suddenly grabbed the nearest rubbish bin and emptied her stomach's contents into it.

"I don't think so, Ferret," Ginny grinned evilly, "There's nothing in our…arrangement…indicating I need you for anything more than show. Besides, after having had the Chosen One," Ginny ran her long, pale fingers across his equally long, pale jaw, "Not even a pureblood could satisfy my needs. And you…well, you, _Draco_, would have to wait a long time for me to forget what it feels like to be with a real man before I came crawling to you for comfort."

She pressed a soft parcel into his arms, "Thanks for letting me borrow your cloak tonight." The redhead plucked one of her own hairs off his robe, and dropped it on the floor on the other side of the portal. She followed the abandoned strand, and with a soft hiss, the hatch resealed itself.

Malfoy stood, frozen, where she'd left him. He, the Slytherin Prince, Lord of the Forbidden Dance, turned down by a freckle-faced blood traitor? Unheard of. Malfoy lifted a sleeve of his robe and sniffed under his arm. A perfectly acceptable mixture of man-musk and cologne. His hands scoured his face—no blemishes on his deathly pale skin. Giving up, he turned back to the common room. A couple shadowy forms still milled about, gathering their odds and ends.

"You, girl," Malfoy said, crossing to a fifth-year with olive skin and light brown hair, "Smell me." Not sure whether he was having her on, the terrified girl bent forward and sniffed him several times. "Now, having smelled me, answer my question: Would you deny yourself the pleasure of my company?" All the color drained from the teenager's face, and she could barely shake her head no. "Just as I thought; the Weaselette is bluffing." Malfoy swept away, but paused at the archway leading down to the seventh-year boys' dormitory.

"You may accompany me," he said somberly. The girl began to shake so hard that her bag slid right off her shoulder and onto the floor, spilling a random assortment of quills and parchment across the polished floorboards.

"Twitchy thing, aren't you? Come along, then."

"Uh," the girl looked sideways, at her half-finished essay on concealment charms. _I should have paid more attention to Professor Flitwick_, she lamented. "I think I'd better not." Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her.

"What is your name?" He said, casually, crossing over to where she stood.

"Astoria," she replied softly, then, louder, "Astoria Greengrass."

"Well, Astoria Greengrass, I am Draco Malfoy," he narrowed his stormy gray eyes at her, "And what Draco Malfoy wants, Draco Malfoy gets. Now, be a good girl and join me, I haven't got all night."

"I'm feeling ill." Astoria brought a hand to her cheek, "I'd better go lie down. Alone."

"Nonsense, I'll have Crabbe—or Goyle, whichever one it is that's still alive—go nick something from the Hospital Wing for you." Malfoy brought an enrobed arm to rest around her shoulders; Astoria repressed the urge to shudder.

"No, really," she brushed the arm away, "I must have caught something from my boyfriend," Astoria lied. And then, for good measure, "I think you know him? Neville Longbottom, from Gryffindor."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. "You," he sputtered, "and Longbottom?" He turned around sharply, heading back to the archway leading to the lower dungeons with an expression of utmost bewilderment. Along the way, Astoria heard him muttering something about the utter lack of values in the younger generation, and only when she heard a door slam several stories down did she exhale. Then, with a start, she realized what she'd just done and groaned, bending to pick up her scattered supplies.

Cutting off the nose to spite the face, she believed, was the proper term. Not even the thought of a lonesome Malfoy tossing and turning and eventually probably wanking it off in his private bathroom could settle her troubled thoughts and she bedded down for the night. Boys, she decided then and there, were utterly useless.


	3. Cors Lectorum

**Thanks to all my readers, and my stoic reviewer, nutmeg!**

**Disclaimer: Erm, forgot about this...So, I don't own Harry Potter, but someday I might pull a Michael Jackson and steal the rights, muahaha.**

* * *

"Blimey, Harry," Ron Weasley fell onto the sofa in front of Gryffindor tower's fireplace, and Harry followed suit on the nearest chair, "Tomorrow's Saturday, isn't it?" Harry groaned.

"You're right," Harry winced as the bruises on his shoulders connected with the plush armchair, "Quidditch practice tomorrow morning."

"Just what the Healer ordered!" Ron exclaimed, rising to his feet with renewed passion, "What d'you reckon, Harry? A good bout of flying out to lift your spirits!" A cold fear started to uncurl in Harry's upper abdomen as an image of Malfoy's sneering face materialized in the back of his mind. Inexplicably, the Ferret had humiliated Harry in the mens' room; what if, somehow, Harry's innate flying abilities had been similarly compromised? He'd fallen off his broom on more than one occasion, but the thought of being unable to even lift off the ground struck more fear into him than a thousand soul-sucking dementors. And then, there was always the "Ginny Situation;" she was his star Chaser, after all.

Ron stood in front of the fire, lost in his own thoughts. Hermione had nudged him to follow Harry almost as soon as Harry had left the Great Hall, yet Ron hadn't arrived in time to stop Harry from getting petrified and soaked in piss. Something just didn't fit. He felt a headache beginning at the back of his head, which commonly happened when he attempted deep thinking.

Hermione startled both Ron and Harry out of their morose musings by bursting into the common room, breathless. She dumped a stack of library books onto a nearby desk, then took Ron's seat on the couch, looking at both her friends.

"What's happened?" She asked after a moment, judging their dejection within seconds. Harry and Ron exchanged looks. There were simply some things you couldn't share with females, no matter how good of friends you were with them; being robbed of your dignity in a men's bathroom was one of them.

"Hermione," Ron started, ignoring her question and nodding to the stack of dusty tomes, "What's all that? Haven't forgotten another potions essay, have I?" Hermione looked over her shoulder at the books, and her face lit up.

"Well, Ronald," she crossed over to the desk, "_Those_ are every issue of _Witch Weekly_ for the past decade. I figured that Harry might find some insight into his current…circumstances…and you and I could help him," Hermione nudged the stack aside, and hefted the volume from the bottom over to where Harry sat, looking bewildered, "We'd better start at the beginning. If we each read ten articles an hour for four hours a night, we should be done the lot by next Thursday, and then," Ron cleared his throat, interrupting her before she could go on.

"Uh, Hermione," he wandered around to the back of Harry's chair and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, rubbing it obsessively, "Do you really think that's necessary?" Hermione's nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. Harry looked up at Ron, and began to fervently shake his head, but Ron blundered on: "Honestly, it's not like Harry's trying to figure out how to charm himself out of impotence, or which potion to use for unruly hair."

"I think it's a great idea, Hermione," Harry cut Ron off before he could dig himself deeper. Hermione crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him, "But Ron and I really should be getting up to bed, we've got Quidditch practice tomorrow morning. Let's talk about this afterward, huh?" Defeated, Hermione accepted the thick book back from Harry, and without another word, she went up the stairs to her dormitory. Ron shook his head, staring after her.

"Women," he muttered, "They're all mental." Harry shrugged, and rose to his feet.

"C'mon, Ron, it's nearly nine o' clock," Harry trudged towards the seventh year boys' dormitory, "I've got to get changed before someone smells me." Ron chuckled good-naturedly, and followed Harry upstairs. Within moments of one another, both boys were fast asleep.

* * *

The hands of the nearby clock read a quarter after nine when Ginny Weasley stepped through the portrait hole. Someone had let the fire burn low, and an evening chill not unlike that of the Slytherin dungeon filled the tower's common room. As the Fat Lady swung shut behind her, Ginny thought she heard a hiss—"Hussy!"—but ignored it in favor of her mission. Deftly, she crossed to the announcement board, and tacked a piece of parchment onto it. She stood back, surveying her handiwork, and let a gloating smile cross her face. Everything was going according to plan.

As she mounted the stairs to the sixth-year girls' dormitory, Ginny let herself relax. She been unable to think of anything except the details of her extravagant plan for weeks; now, all of her hard work and effort were beginning to pay off. Being the early evening of a Friday, Ginny was unsurprised to find the dorm empty. The other sixth-year girls were no doubt otherwise engaged, either learning the finer points of Quidditch or studying Charms with their boyfriends. Ginny snorted; her "boyfriend" was probably seeking some poor girl's snitch at this very moment.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the seventh- and fifth-year girls above and below, Ginny flipped open her trunk and withdrew a small velvet pouch. Muffled sounds of tinkling glass and ceramics echoed in the empty chamber as she placed it on her bed and crossed to the mantle, where the Hogwarts house-elves kept a silver pitcher of water consistently filled. She poured herself a goblet, and began to set up the contents of the bag on her nightstand.

Out of the depths of the bag, she first drew a tiny, white enameled dish, and then five pearlescent marbles. She'd spent her entire summer's savings on those five marbles from Borgin and Burkes—when the rest of her family had been simpering over the restored shopface of Ollivander's ("Now carrying dragon heartstring wands from THE Harry Potter's infamous mount!")—and had found the "divining dish" in the confiscated items locker of the Prefect's Parlor. The things were quite fickle, used mostly as fortune-tellers for young girls who hadn't the brains or magical ability to decipher social occurrences on their own; however, the specific enchantment Ginny had found required such a dish, for a far more devious purpose.

She filled the dish with water, and swirled the liquid around a bit with the tip of her wand. Once she had a nice vortex going, she muttered, "_Cordis Monitor,_" and the swirling fluid abruptly froze into a gelatinous solid. A ripe smell had begun to permeate the chamber, but Ginny had learned to ignore it: it was an ironic side-effect of having cleansed the dish in diluted Mooncalf dung. The book she was using, "Egregious Enchantments for the Ambitious Adept," had recommended unicorn's milk, but such a commodity was extremely expensive; when she'd asked Professor Slughorn if there were any in the school stores, the old man laughed derisively and told her that when she had several thousand spare galleons, he'd be happy to order some for her. _Old fart_, Ginny thought as she took a white marble from her bed and plopped it into the coagulated water.

"_Cor Lectorum _Harry Potter," she whispered, and the mixture turned a hazy shade of yellow. Ginny took note on a spare piece of parchment. One by one, she dropped the five marbles into the divining dish, whispering the incantation and a name each time, and then writing down the reaction. Once finished, she packed everything back into its pouch, and replaced it inside her trunk while drawing out a slim, shining book. She sat on her bed, and flipped through the book until she reached "Chapter 8: Know Thy Enemy." Looking below, she found the diagram that would help her unravel the mysteries of the divining dish.

According to the Magical Law of Psychosomatic Duplication, Harry's color—that hazy yellow—indicated that he was feeling rather jealous and heartsick, for obvious reasons. Ron's color, a dark reddish-purple, meant that her brother was feeling frustrated and angry, probably because of Harry's situation. Hermione, a watery blue, sought understanding while being held prisoner by fear—Ginny smiled, knowing that Nott's devious plan must have taken effect by now. Draco's orange-red reaction denoted both deceitfulness (unsurprising) and sexual dissatisfaction. Ginny laughed out loud at the last interpretation, thinking, _even sex-gods don't always get lucky._

Finally, she scanned the diagram in the book to discover the meaning of her own murky green color. Incidentally, her specific coloration seemed to be a sign of intense guilt and malevolent jealousy. Ginny, annoyed, snapped the book shut. Jealousy, indeed! She could understand the guilt aspect of the revelation—it was hard work, abandoning every moral principle she'd developed over years of combating the forces of evil. But jealous?

Nope. Not Ginny Weasley.

* * *

At the end of last school year, Ginny had taken part in the epic battle at Hogwarts that had decided the fate of the magical world and had done a smashing job at taking out dark wizards, not that anyone noticed in lieu of Harry's marvelous near-death experience. After the battle, Harry had slept for days back at the Burrow, while reporters, well-wishers, and admirers had stormed the Burrow anticipating Harry's return to the limelight. Of course, once Harry awakened, he was lost in a tornado of publicity. And while the Boy Who Lived disappeared for days on end at various ministry functions, Ginny was left alone to console her greiving parents. Ron and Hermione, unlike Ginny, shared in Harry's glory; it wasn't too long before the media began to refer to the three of them as "the Golden Trio."

The first time Ginny had seen this new title in the Evening Prophet, she'd been helping her mother prepare dinner for their family plus Hermione and Harry (who were pretty much family by now anyway, especially since Hermione was dating Ron and Harry was dating Ginny). As Ginny chopped carrots, guiding the knife with her wand, she watched the family clock from across the kitchen. The arm labeled "Ron" swung precariously between "mortal peril" and "in love."

_"Ron and Hermione are at it again, Mum," Ginny laughed. The new couple's lovers' spats had become something of a joke at the Burrow; about once a week, Ron would come downstairs for breakfast, haunted and pale, followed by a red-faced and prickly Hermione. Then, someone at the table would ask how the row went—of course everyone had heard them the previous night—and they would both break down and apologize. Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock and chuckled softly as she popped open their stove to check on the turkey browning inside._

_"Gosh," Ginny sighed, dumping the carrots into a pot of boiling water, "I wish Hermione would stop being such a prude and go and shag him. They're going to drive us all mad." Mrs. Weasley gasped and stared at Ginny, scandalized. "Oh, come on, mum. You know I'm right."_

_"I suppose," Mrs. Weasley recovered, "We called it hanky panky, back in my day…"_

_Just then, the old family owl swooped in through the open window and dive-bombed a pitcher of pumpkin juice on the large wooden table. Mrs. Weasley shrieked, rushing to retrieve their fallen pet, with Ginny hot on her heels. After reviving the poor bird and setting him on his perch, Ginny unfurled a rather soggy copy of the_ Evening Prophet_. She scanned the paper for several moments._

_"Ah," she said, "They've finally tried Lucius Malfoy; the great prat only got ten years in Azkaban. So did Nott, and Yaxley. Honestly, I don't know if I agree with this whole 'leniency' thing Harry proposed to the Minister. Here," Ginny flipped a couple pages, "It says..." She trailed off as she took in the massive moving photograph splashed across the page opposite the one pertaining to the other Death Eater trials._

_The headline above the picture read, "GOLDEN TRIO ATTENDS RED CARPET UNVEILING OF NEW MINISTRY MEMORIAL; POTTER SPEAKS AT LAST TO REPORTERS ABOUT THE YEAR HE SPENT UNDERGROUND." In the picture, a familiar green-eyed and bespectacled face with uncontrollable black hair that didn't fully cover a lightning-bolt scar grinned sheepishly at the photographer, flanked on one side by a beaming Ronald Weasley and on the other by the more demure Hermione Granger, her flyaway hair not entirely captured in a knot on the back of her head. As Ginny watched, the frame zoomed out, and Harry raised his wand to lift a pair of overlarge shears and snip a huge ribbon that ringed something too large to fit in the frame. As he did so, confetti fell upon the three, and someone standing outside the frame levitated thick garlands of flowers over their heads and onto their shoulders. Harry made a formal bow, and behind him, Ron and Hermione shared a brief kiss. The picture reset as Ginny began reading the article._

"Harry James Potter, pictured above at the unveiling of the Wizengamot War Memorial, stood before a panel of internationally acclaimed historians earlier this evening to give a firsthand account of the events leading up to the epic Battle of Hogwarts. Mr. Potter, accompanied by his faithful friends, Hermione Jean Granger, muggle-born magical wunderkind, and Ronald Bilius Weasley, of the heroic and much-acclaimed Weasley Clan, deigned to speak with Prophet reporters before entering the closed assembly outside London's Ministry Headquarters.

Daily Prophet: So, Mr. Potter, how does it feel to be the most famous wizard of our times, possibly in the whole history of magic?

HJP: It's kind of like waking up from a nightmare, really. I've never felt so, unencumbered, I guess. (Harry smiles to himself.)

Daily Prophet: Will you be revealing anything especially important today, before the panel?

HJP: I don't think so. I mean, wasn't the only important thing getting rid of Voldemort?

Daily Prophet: Of course. But you disappeared from the public eye for almost nine months. Everyone's a bit curious as to what happened between your seventeenth birthday and the day Voldemort passed into legend. You must have seen, and done, some pretty extraordinary things.

HJP: Oh, yeah. Definitely. But I was never really alone, at least until the end. Ron and Hermione were with me every step of the way, if not actually, then in spirit. What happened at the Battle of Hogwarts would have been different—really, I can't even imagine it—without them.

Daily Prophet: Do you think your parents would be proud of you, Harry?

HJP: (pause) I reckon they might. I like to think that everyone who suffered at Voldemort's hands—muggles, wizards, everyone—has finally gotten some kind of repayment for their pain. Myself included. I'll never be able to bring my mum and dad back, or Ron's brother, or Hermione's parents, but at least I helped bring the wizard who did them wrong to justice.

Daily Prophet: Speaking of justice, is it true you plan on testifying at the trial of Draco Malfoy?"

HJP: Yes, I…"

_Ginny had to stop reading. Her eyes had filled with tears, and she could no longer see the words. Without speaking, she threw the damp newspaper into the rubbish bin and dashed up to her room. When her mother called up for dinner about a half-hour later, Ginny had made up her mind to confront Harry._

_Downstairs, Hermione and Ron sat on either side of Harry, while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley faced one another at opposite ends of the table. A pointedly bright and cheerful Percy sat across from Ron, enthusiastically piling green-bean casserole onto his plate; two seats over, Charlie was telling his friends and family about a rather exciting new method he'd developed for subduing dragons. When he heard Ginny enter, however, Charlie turned and offered her a great big smile. Though his face was scarred and pitted from an errant curse, Charlie's warmth poured through the deformity and washed over Ginny like a fresh breeze. She took the open seat between him and Percy, and began helping herself to dripping chunks of turkey._

_Ginny spent most of the meal in silence, only half-listening as they discussed bits of news and gossip they'd picked up throughout the day. She peeked up at Harry a few times, and found him either busily answering Mrs. Weasley's rapidfire questions or serving himself seconds—not once did he look across the table at his girlfriend. At last, after everyone was full to exploding, the group began to break up and carry on with their evening activities._

_"Blimey, I'm bushed," Ron said, after a moment, stretching in his chair and patting his engorged stomach, "Who knew what a drag it would be hanging around the Ministry all day," He grinned._

_"Ronald Bilius Weasley," Hermione chastised him, "Your day composed of making rude impressions of Cornelius Fudge—to his face, I might add—and swallowing several tons of confetti, so don't even start. Besides, you and Harry have got to get started on planning George's bachelor party."_

_"It's called a 'Stag Party,' Hermione," Ron corrected, "Cos it's a bunch of horny blokes spending a night running about with their unfortunate friend, trying to convince him to change his mind." Harry laughed at this, thinking it rather clever, but Hermione's brown glare of death silenced them both._

_"Whatever it's called," she said, her voice venomous, "George left it to you lot to plan the party, and don't you think for one second that I'm going to let you off doing him the way he did Bill." Harry and Ron shuddered, recalling Bill's bachelor party, where Fred and George had waited until the last minute to drag Bill down to the Leaky Cauldron for some butterbeer—which had likely been several years expired, by the taste—and a painfully awkward bagpipe quartet. "Now, hadn't you two better get started?"_

_"Yes, Miss Granger," they chorused, staring at her, somber as Severus Snape on Christmas. Ron, of course, ruined the moment by snickering, and Hermione chased him upstairs, swiping at his retreating back with an enormous book. Harry stood up as well, making to follow them, but Ginny walked around the table and grabbed his wrist before he reached the stairs._

_"Harry," she said, deadly serious, "We need to talk." Concern etched his features as Ginny led him out into the garden. Fireflies floated around them in the darkness, illuminating a path around to the side of the house, where the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes was somewhat softer._

_"What's wrong, Gin?" Harry asked, after they finally stopped. Ginny considered her tactics._

_"Harry," she replied after a moment, "When's the last time you kissed me?"_

_"Uh, yesterday morning, right?"_

_"No," she sighed, "You weren't even here yesterday morning. You, Ron, and Hermione spent the night at Bill's cottage, and went from there straight to London. When's the last time we even had a moment like this, to ourselves?"_

_"Honestly, Gin," Harry answered earnestly, "I haven't had a chance to spend much time with you since the Battle. There were so many funerals, so many celebrations, so much work to do with the Ministry…" he trailed off, willing her to understand. Oh, she understood all right._

_"So, you'd rather attend funerals and spend the night at parties with your friends than come back to the boring Burrow and check up on your boring girlfriend? For Merlin's sake, Harry! You'd rather run laps around the Ministry than take a walk through the garden with me!" Her eyes filled with tears as she pointed an accusing finger at him. "While the three of you were off doing who-knows-what all over Britain, I had to sit at school and wait around for you lot to show up and save the day!"_

_"Ginny, it wasn't safe. I told you, after Dumbledore's funeral…" Ginny cut him off._

_"After Dumbledore's funeral, I didn't expect you to drop off the face of the Earth! Would it have killed you to send me an owl? Even while he was hiding from the dementors, Sirius managed to stay in contact with you! And he had a dirty great hippogriff to look after!" It was a low blow, and she knew it._

_"Ginny," Harry explained patiently, "Listen to yourself; It was too dangerous, even to owl you."_

_"You let THEM come with you!" She narrowed her eyes, "Why did I get left behind? I read the article in the Evening Prophet; you don't even mention me, or what I had to put up with at school because of you! You have no idea what Neville and I went through. I still have the scars from Carrows' 're-education.'"_

_"I didn't ask Ron or Hermione to come with me," Harry said quietly, "They were both of age, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Believe me, if I'd been able to, I would've locked them both inside a Gringott's vault 'til the War was over, just to make sure they didn't get hurt. But I couldn't. And don't think," Harry crossed his arms, "For one second that I've forgotten—that I'll ever forget—everything you and Neville did at Hogwarts during the War. There's no need to be spiteful, Ginny."_

_"Spiteful!" She screeched, "You haven't seen me spiteful! This is me wondering how I ever fell in love with a pompous wanker like you! I might as well have just thrown in with the Slytherins and started snogging Malfoy for all the good it's done me being friends with you!"_

_"Ginny," Harry said loudly. The redhead plodded on, ignoring him._

_"Then, at least I wouldn't have to put up with death threats and insults from all sides…"_

_"GINNY!" Harry yelled, "WOULD YOU PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, SHUT IT FOR TWO BLOODY SECONDS!" Ginny was shocked into wide-eyed compliance, "Ginny Weasley, I love you to death, but you've got to snap out of it! I want to help you, I really do. But if you insist on being dense, then you may as well bugger off for good, because I'm not going to throw you a pity party!"_

And then, having spent days building up to this moment—which was to have been a wake-up call for Harry—and funneling all her doubts and loneliness into what she'd thought was an impenetrable suit of righteous armor—after all that, Ginny broke down and cried. And Harry, being the kind, noble, upstanding soul that he was took her in his arms and held her until she left off sobbing. As she stared, bleary-eyed, up into his warm, green eyes, she came to a realization: She hated Harry Potter. He was simply too good for her, and for that, she couldn't forgive him.

Together, Ginny and Harry had walked back inside the Burrow, and for the next several days, Ginny had been on her best behavior. When the Golden Trio left to take care of their important business, she waved them off cheerily; when they returned in the evening, she welcomed Harry home with a loving kiss. But all the while, she began to put her diabolical mind to the problem of getting revenge on the Boy Who Lived and his two best friends. Ginny had several things working in her favor as the beginnings of her plan took shape: Harry was too busy to notice that she was acting strangely, her parents were often out of the house for long periods of time, and her seventeenth birthday was coming up soon. Once Ginny turned seventeen, she'd be able to use magic outside of Hogwarts without fear of a reprimand from the Department of Underage Sorcery. The day crept closer, and she continued plotting in secret.

The day before Ginny's birthday, she walked downstairs to find her parents deeply engrossed in a conversation with Bill, Ginny's eldest brother, and his wife, Fleur Delacour Weasley. Fleur seemed to be crying, and her voice was more throaty than usual as she spoke in rapid French. When Fleur hyperventilated like this, Ginny had joked once that "Phlegm" had got a frog caught in her throat. Both Bill and Mrs. Weasley had given Ginny a good talking-to after, but the joke stuck.

_"Fleur, dearest," Bill said, softly stroking his wife's pale blonde hair, "En anglais, si'l vous plais."_

_"Eet 'appened so suddenly!" Fleur wailed, "He did not even see eet coming!"_

_Mrs. Weasley looked at her husband, "What dear? Who didn't see what coming?"_

_"My Papa," the intoxicatingly beautiful (and eight-months pregnant) Frenchwoman choked, "He and my Muzzer were climbeeng in zee Alps, as zey always do in zee summer, and…and…" she burst into a fresh wave of tears, "A Yeti came out of nowhere, attacking zem! Before he could even get out hees wand, eet…eet…" Fleur buried her face in her hands. The Yeti had obviously NOT invited her father for a cup of tea and some crumpets at its palatial ice-cave. Bill continued patting her gently._

_"Mr. Delacour is dead," he told his parents, "And Fleur's mother is in critical condition at a St. Mungo's French branch outside Marseilles. They don't know if she'll last much longer…"_

_"Zey were told zat zee Yeti were in hibernation!" Fleur cried, "Somebody wanted zem dead!"_

_"Now, Fleur," Mr. Weasley reached his hand over the table to grasp those of his first grandchild's mother, "You mustn't think that way. Sometimes, terrible things happen for no reason whatsoever. A fluke, if you will, or an unfortunate twist of fate, perhaps. Either way," he assured her, "I'm sure that your father and mother's predicament had no direct correlation to anything even slightly meaningful."_

_Fleur looked deeply offended, and burst from her chair, moving with incredible speed for a pregnant woman. As she threw open the back door, she began to mutter darkly—in French—through her nonstop tears._

_"Ah," Bill said, rising to follow her, "I'd better go see to that. Sorry, Mum, Dad. She's a bit wonky, y'know," He made a round gesture over his abdomen and then whirled around to chase his wife._

_After several seconds of astonished silence, Mrs. Weasley began puttering around the kitchen, fixing up lunch for whoever was around to eat it. "What a shame," she sighed, "I rather liked Fleur's father. Too bad she didn't take after him more." Mr. Weasley grunted his agreement, and began shuffling through several piles of envelopes on the worn wooden table. He withdrew one that was a violent shade of magenta, and held it up so his wife could see._

_"Molly," he squinted at the address, "What's this?" His wife glanced over._

_"Oh, it's for Minerva, from Fleur. She's Gabrielle's legal guardian for the time being, so…Ginny? Is that you?" Blast, Ginny thought, as she proceeded the rest of the way down the stairs guiltily. "What were you doing up there? Listening in?" Mrs. Weasley had raised her wand threateningly; Ginny smiled._

_"No, Mum," Ginny lied, "Why would I want to listen to Phlegm anyway? I can't even understand her with that slimy stonker in her throat." She saw her dad's lips curl up at the edges, but Ginny's mum was not amused. However, she had been successfully deflected._

_"Ginny," Mrs. Weasley warned, "I don't care whether or not you approve of Fleur, but she's giving birth to my granddaughter in a month, and I would appreciate it if you stopped alienating her."_

_"Yes, Mum," Ginny rolled her eyes, taking a seat near her father, "So, I thought of a good name for my new niece," Ginny winked at Mr. Weasley._

_"Oh, let's hear it then," her mum said from across the kitchen, sounding relieved._

_"How about 'Ribbit?'" Mr. Weasley promptyly gagged, spitting coffee down his shirt._

_"OUT!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, brandishing a frying pan at her only daughter, "Go do something productive like the rest of your siblings!" Ginny happily obliged, and traipsed back up to her room. She had scheming to attend to, and this new information ought to prove valuable in her plans to completely bring the Golden Trio's reign of terror to a morbid and vindicating end._

_

* * *

_

In the present, Ginny threw the book back inside her trunk, and roughly grabbed her nightie off the headboard. Heading towards the girls' bathroom, Ginny paused at the soft sounds of snuffling coming from within. Gingerly, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the cool room. The noise was coming from the very last stall, and at first, Ginny thought it was Moaning Myrtle. As she drew closer, however, she recognized the choking sobs.

"Hermione?" She queried softly. The sniffing abruptly stopped.

"Ginny?" Hermione's voice was trembling and thin from behind the stall's door.

"What's wrong Hermione?" Ginny asked, feigning concern; inside, she beamed triumphantly, "Is it something to do with that idiot brother of mine?"

"No!" Hermione said, a little too quickly, and Ginny smirked. "I've just got a busy schedule."

"Don't tire yourself out," the redhead advised, "You're the cleverest witch in the school, but even you need to take it easy once in awhile. You'll need all the stamina you can get; I've a feeling that those two," Obviously, Ron and Harry, "Are going to be relying on you more than ever this year."

"Yeah," Hermione sounded put-off, and Ginny could practically hear the wheels whirring inside Hermione's frizzled head, even through the flimsy wooden door of the stall.

"Well, g'night Hermione. Best of luck," Ginny called brightly as she turned to leave. She didn't bother to wait for Hermione's response, and, passing out the door and back into the dormitory, she desperately shoved a fist in her mouth to keep from laughing. Oh, the joys of revenge!


End file.
